The boy, carrying a briefcase, dashed into the mansion, where the door was left open up to the threshold, and shouted.

“I’ve brought a reply from Feltham!”

At the boy’s loud voice, Mr. Palmer, the butler inside, was startled and came out.

“You don’t have to yell.”

At the low but firm reprimand, the boy shrank his neck and held out the briefcase he had brought.

“Sergeant Thornton asked me to do this this morning! He said it was urgent!”

The boy, who had been loitering in the fields after following his father, who was out for work nearby in the morning, happened to run into Mrs. Parker, who had stepped out in front of the mansion to call for someone heading to Feltham. Thanks to that, the boy had managed to land a well-paying errand early in the morning.

“Alright, I got it.”

Mr. Palmer, flustered, pressed a finger to his lips, signaling for the boy to lower his voice.

The light in Sergeant Thornton’s room had been on until dawn. It seemed he still wasn’t sleeping properly. The second floor, which had remained noisy all morning, had only grown quiet around lunchtime.

Palmer had hoped he might be getting some rest, only for the boy to come in shouting like this.

“You’re here.”

At that moment, Sergeant Thornton’s voice came from the stairs. When Palmer turned around, he saw him descending slowly.

“My apologies. You must have been asleep.”

“No, it’s fine. I was awake anyway—I knew the boy had entered Blissbury the moment he arrived.”

Somehow, it seemed unlikely that he had woken up simply because of the boy’s voice. Rather, it was clear he had never truly fallen asleep in the first place.

Ryan came down the stairs and accepted the briefcase the boy handed over.

‘Unexpected.’

He had thought that he would come immediately when Mr. Surberton received his letter.

After all, from their past conversations, Ryan knew just how much Mr. Surberton cared about Blissbury.

Yet an entire day had passed without a reply from him. In the end, Ryan had to send another message urging a response.

If Mr. Surberton had been busy yesterday, Ryan had assumed he would visit in person today. However, instead of Mr. Surberton himself, a thick briefcase arrived.

‘Is he feeling unwell?’

The last time Mr. Surberton visited Blissbury, he mentioned his health.

“You’ll be returning to Newham before long, but honestly, I wish you could stay here longer. As you can see, I’ve aged quite a bit, and working as I used to is becoming increasingly difficult…”

Mr. Surberton had said this while gazing softly at the hills beyond.

“Fortunately, my daughter is helping out, so I can still manage Blissbury for now. Without her, it would have been truly tough.”

He had also mentioned that even climbing stairs had become difficult and that he was becoming increasingly forgetful.

So, could his health have worsened, preventing him from coming?

Just as Ryan was about to open the briefcase, he noticed the errand boy staring at him with expectant eyes.

The boy had already been paid, so what was he looking forward to?

Ryan, puzzled, glanced at him—only to spot some cookie crumbs stuck to the boy’s lips.

“You must have received some treats from the Mr. Surberton household.”

“Ah!”

At those words, the boy hurriedly wiped his mouth and then quickly popped the remaining crumbs into his mouth.

With a sheepish grin, he explained, almost as an excuse,

“Surberton’s cookies are the best! And their young lady always gives cookies to the kids who run errands! She even stuffs them into our pockets if the maids aren’t around!”

At the boy’s words, Ryan recalled the image of Eloise handing out cookies.

She had begrudgingly given him an apple pie, looking as if she couldn’t stand the idea of offering him anything, yet she generously handed cookies to the village children.

With a wry smile, Ryan turned to Palmer.

“Pack plenty of treats for him to take. Enough to share with the other children.”

At that, the boy’s face brightened.

“Understood. Come along now.”

As Palmer called him over, the boy eagerly followed, chatting as he went.

“I have five younger siblings! And lots of friends…”

“Yes, yes, I get it. Mrs. Parker is going to scold me for this, I’m sure.”

Grumbling but still leading the boy, Palmer headed straight for the kitchen.

Watching the two disappear into the distance, Ryan finally opened the briefcase.

On top lay a sealed envelope.

As he pulled it out and began reading, his expression gradually hardened.

“Mr. Surberton will be away for an extended period?”

‘Damn.’

Ryan let out a short sigh.

When Julia had told him about Blissbury’s summer banquet, he had planned to ask Mr. Surberton to handle the preparations.

Although Ryan had come here as the new steward, Mr. Surberton still officially held the title as well.

He assumed that Mr. Surberton, who had been handling this task every year, would continue to do so. However, he had now left due to his godmother’s illness.

Ryan reread the letter. The handwriting was noticeably different from what he had seen from Mr. Surberton before—much neater. Naturally, it was Eloise’s.

She ended the letter by saying he would understand once he reviewed the documents. Nowhere did she mention that he should contact her if he needed help or that she would visit.

In other words, she had no intention of assisting him and was leaving him to handle it on his own.

“Hah.”

Ryan took the documents and headed to the study.

He emptied the briefcase’s contents onto the desk and retrieved the neatly categorized documents from the filing cabinet.

Just as Eloise had said, the documents she sent were stained with watermarks, while the ones kept in Blissbury were pristine, without even a trace of insect damage.

It was clear how much effort Mr. Surberton and his daughter had put into preserving these records.

‘So, since Mr. Surberton is absent, I have to oversee this year’s event myself?’

Frankly, it was a hassle. It was an unfamiliar task, and he had no desire to do it.

If he didn’t have the title of steward, he wouldn’t have even looked at it.

At that moment, he recalled something Mr. Surberton had once said.

“If I ever have to be away, you can ask Eloise. She loves Blissbury so much that she knows everything about this place. Sometimes, I think she knows even more than I do.”

Yet, the very person who was supposed to help had merely sent these detailed documents through someone else.

Considering their relationship, it was surprising she had even bothered to organize them this thoroughly.

Moreover, her annotations weren’t hastily scribbled. They detailed what had been ordered in the past, how the price was negotiated at the time, and which suppliers were used when certain items were unavailable in Camborne.

The handwriting, distinct from Mr. Surberton’s, carefully circled smudged sections and provided clear explanations.

‘So, she truly does care about Blissbury.’

If she could compile this much information even without Mr. Surberton’s help, then her affection for this estate was genuine.

Still, documents alone couldn’t tell him everything.

‘When will Mr. Surberton return?’

From past records, the summer banquet was usually held at the end of July.

‘It’s late April, so I have three months left.’

He wasn’t sure how long the preparations would take, but they didn’t require more than a month. He could easily provide additional hands if time were short and they were needed.

‘Plenty is sitting in the bank, after all.’

Between the compensation he received for accepting the offer from his biological father, Earl Wallace, the salary he earned during his military service after adulthood, and the prize money that came with various medals, his funds remained untouched in the bank.

He had no personal desires, so he had spent little, aside from purchasing a house in the capital. The money had simply accumulated.

Even a fraction of that would be enough to fund Blissbury’s banquet. In fact, it would allow for a grand event rivaling those in the capital.

Still, as this was a local tradition, he had no desire to impose the capital’s extravagant and ostentatious customs, which might ruin its authenticity.

As he flipped through the documents, hoping Mr. Surberton would return soon—

“…Huh?”

A single sheet of paper, distinct in color from the rest, was tucked among the documents.

Unlike the off-white legal paper, this one had a pale blue hue. Delicate floral patterns were faintly printed across it.

It was clearly not an official document but a letter.

Why was something like this here? Did they run out of paper and decide to use this instead?

Puzzled, he picked it up.

And in the next moment, his eyes widened.

At the very top of the page—

“To my Ryan, whom I will always miss…”

For a moment, he blinked dumbly. The handwriting was unmistakably Eloise’s.

But… “To my Ryan”?

Did that woman seriously send him a letter like this?